There have been a few moments in my life when thoughts so profound have taken root in my soul and ignoring them would be devastating. When passion has fueled purpose in a way that has made me wonder how I ever thought anything else was possible.
Sitting in my first apartment in Athens, listening to my mom worry about and wonder why my brother was having so much trouble in middle school. My heart breaking when a teacher sat across from her in a conference and said “I don’t love your son. I wouldn’t die for your son.”
“If she can do it, I can be a hell of a lot better than that. I’m going to be an educator.“
Walking into the University Health Center at UGA at 22 years old, miserable and wondering what the point of living, of trying so hard, was anymore and being heard for the first time as I shared what I was feeling with the intake coordinator in the Counseling and Psychological Services office.
“This is anxiety and depression, Miranda. We can help.“
Learning I was pregnant with Emma, the best surprise the universe has ever given me, and being overwhelmed by the thought of balancing the needs of the children I birthed and the needs of the children in my classroom after the devastation of postpartum anxiety.
“I don’t think I can go through PPD again, Dan. I have to leave teaching to protect my mental health.”
Pouring myself out to my psychiatrist in visit after visit through the pandemic, wondering why I suddenly couldn’t manage to keep my head above water. Why it felt like I was drowning all the time.
“The systems you’ve built over the years to keep yourself together have failed. This is how ADHD presents in women.”
There have been more moments like this, where the relief of knowing that I’m stepping into a new understanding of myself and my purpose is so, so overwhelming I could cry or dance or both. And sometimes I have.
A vote is a kind of prayer for the world we desire for ourselves and for our children. — Senator Raphael Warnock
Seeing Gus Walz openly and emotionally love his father Wednesday night broke something open inside me and woke a new purpose. Thursday morning, my friend Lena and I shared—almost simultaneously in our many-years-long chat thread—the idea that this young man’s joy could be a movement that brings hope to the neurodiverse community and to parents of neurodiverse children. A hope that this amazing community might have a champion in the highest office in the United States of America.
And we’re endeavoring together to make it so.
Neurodivergents for Harris is a movement for those of us who are neurodiverse and for parents of neurodiverse children. We want to see the laws that exist now to help our children thrive, like the IDEA and the ADA, strengthened not destroyed. The departments tasked with supporting our families and students, like the Department of Education, deserve more funding and support, not less.
We know that a second Trump administration, guided by Project 2025 and Agenda 47, would gut the protections currently in place for neurodiverse people or eliminate them completely, and that’s not a country or a world that is better for everyone. Or anyone really.
Raphael Warnock, the first Black Senator from Georgia, says “a vote is a kind of prayer for the world we desire for ourselves and for our children.” It’s so easy in our hyper-partisan world to get caught up in the notion that a vote for this party or that one makes us somehow superior. But for me, voting is about hope.
A vote for Kamala Harris and Tim Walz is the hope I carry in my heart for a world where neurodiversity isn’t just accepted but supported through policy and celebrated by all.
Lena and I have a lot of work to do in the coming days, but we know this movement is worth it.
If you are neurodiverse or love someone who is, follow us here: